No Fairytale Princess
by Lupi Loop
Summary: I was never one to dream of a happily ever after. I don't do sentimental nonsense, or cheesey stuff like that. So why can't I stop grinning now I feel I'm in one? Oneshot AU Tetra/ZeldaXLink. Please R


This is just an idea I came up with when I was playing Phantom Hourglass. It's AU Tetra(Zelda)XLink and I hope you enjoy reading it. Please review XX

No fairytale Princess

To some the fairytale ends when the Prince finds his Princess and together they ride off into the sunset. To some, the happily ever after is when the wicked witch is vanquished and peace returns to the land. The favourite one, the ending that most six-year old girls, dressed in their frilly princess dresses, dream of, is the one that ends and begins with a kiss. Standing in the presence of a minister and a room full of smiling witnesses, the vows are exchanged, the rings are pledged, the pact sealed and the happily ever after begins. I hated the idea.

Being a tomboyish sorta girl, I can't say I was ever really interested in being a princess. Boats, archery and swords were more my thing. I was determined I would look after myself. I was never going to need a hero – I was always going to rescue myself. I defied the rule that inside every girl lurks a princess in hiding.

Even when it was the fashion amongst my friends to lust after every man that glanced in their direction, I remained indifferent. It wasn't that I didn't find other's attractive, it was more I just couldn't be bothered with the whole palaver of being in love. I really wasn't interested in the agonies of mortification if the object of your desire ignored you for a day, the anxious wait by the phone, hoping they'd call or text or ANYTHING. The ecstasy when they noticed you. Nope, not for me!

To be honest, I should have been worried when my parents told me I was sensible for a teenager! My friends just thought I was odd, and so they often told me but I just shrugged. Even the relationships I did have tended to fizzle out with a depressingly familiar pattern.

Okay, so maybe inside me I did carry around a tiny (and I mean tiny) image of an ideal. I didn't even notice this trend of my thoughts until one day I caught myself thinking that it would be nice if Marth (my boyfriend at the time) had blond hair, instead of blue-black, and that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't so dignified. Or that Shad (the one after Marth) wasn't so insanely smart. Or that Darmani had a little less brawn and a little more brain. And then it dawned on me - I was comparing these men to something I had created in my mind as an ideal man. And what was the point of looking for somebody who was second best?

When I explained this to my friends, they laughed and promised me that I would be single for eternity. Nobody ever finds their exact ideal. Well, that statement suited me too – I had no real intention of going out looking for a happily ever after. I didn't need that to be happy. If Mr Right was out there, he could come and find me!

Happy in my single state, and having no real intention of changing, I flew through my studies and concentrated on exams, and then my career, and then my house and a thousand other things that tickled my fancy. My friends settled down to their humdrum life, children and partners in tow. I sometimes felt like a bird soaring above them all – free from the restrictions that held them down. Like my yacht, _Zephyr_, I followed whatever path the wind took me.

I suppose it was inevitable that somebody would come along and knock all the wind from my sails!

Our first meeting was not quite the most innocuous, although to this day I maintain it was not my fault. I distinctly remember his stupid red boat ramming the hull of my precious _Zephyr _and I distinctly remember how cold the water was at it sloshed about my ankles with an ominous kind of silence. The idiot sunk my boat and then tried to drown me.

So maybe I didn't quite act in the most ladylike manner. Apparently I swore like a trouper at him, and was pretty rude. He tells me I clearly intended to go down with my ship, for I was still standing on the deck, screaming at him even as the water reached my waist. I don't remember that. What I do recall is his audacity as he boarded my vessel, tossed me over his shoulder and calmly deposited me on the (unfairly) dry deck of his own boat.

I should recall more of this pivotal moment of my life; after all it was the moment where I almost drowned on the high seas. I am disappointed that I don't, for then I would be able to recount what it felt like to be rescued from the jaws of certain doom. I just remember shouting until my throat hurt, not really caring what I said, and a pair of bright blue eyes watching me in kindly silence.

It was the blue eyes that finally invaded my senses again. They were bluer than the sky and the sea, and unfortunately, were filled with unholy amusement. That was worse than anything. And then he chuckled and saluted me. This action so shocked me that I was forced into looking at him properly, and then to my utter disappointment, I found my anger waning in the wake of a weird buzzing in my stomach.

I wasn't seasick. At least, if I was, it was the first time ever in my life. And I wasn't suffering from shock. If I was, I am still ill to this day. It was just something about him that made the air catch in my chest, and made my blood pump around that little bit quicker. And when he grinned…all I could do was gape at him, my explosive anger and tirade all dried up.

He was so mesmerising it took all the energy I could muster to watch as my poor boat finally sank into the murky depths of the ocean.

"Are you alright? You should watch where you're going. You should have given way to the starboard side." He said, apologetically.

"No – port side." I retorted, instantly recovered to my state of seething fury. I was glad in a way. Still, I couldn't help but notice he had a lovely voice. Calm and soft and…okay, so he was pretty hot.

"I hate to correct you, but when two ships under are on a collision course, they should try to pass each other on the left hand side, i.e. port. You should have _turned_ to starboard." He replied, sweetly. His blue eyes warmed with amusement again. "I did try to get out of your way but you turned into me! It's a little difficult to emergency brake in a motorboat. You might not have noticed but I've not got my sails up today."

"You…" I glanced up at the mast and saw the distinct lack of sail. I remember biting my lip and turning away. So not only was this guy gorgeous, he was also right. That made things double-worse. I glanced at him again, only to see that he was smiling at me.

"Tell ya what," He said, suddenly. "I'll buy you dinner and we'll call it even."

"You sank my boat! Dinner doesn't add up to the loss of the _Zephyr_."

"I know some pretty expensive places…" he murmured. "And it was your fault."

"It wasn't…"

Okay so it was my fault, and maybe I swindled him out of a dinner, and an insurance claim, but he didn't seem to care. In fact, when we talked over that first meal, I realised that nothing seemed to faze him. He took every insult I flung at him with a cheery grin, and accepted every one of my criticisms, and when they had all dried up, he listened to me for hours. Really listened and I found myself opening up to him. I'd never met anybody like that before. Subconsciously, I began to compare him to that ideal I had dreamt up all those years ago.

Blond hair? Well his is dirty blond, and a bit long but I suppose it counts. Blue eyes? God yes. He has the clearest, brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. Handsome? Well, duh! He's bloody gorgeous – as cliché as it sounds, he is like one of those god statues! Too smart? Not exactly, I can't say he is the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's not exactly an idiot either. He's a happy medium. Too brawny? Nope, but he has a nicely toned body that even I (with my ludicrously inexperienced eyes) can see through his clothes. He is marginally taller than me and is quiet without being shy.

And once I had run through that whole list and found nothing wanting, and in fact, finding one or two things that I decided needed to be added immediately to that image of an ideal, I knew it was too good to be true.

The fairytale, happy ever after I had never wanted was suddenly in my grasp and I knew it would be taken away from me. Boy did I feel crappy when I realised that. There was no way in the world such a gorgeous, perfect guy was not already attached (or gay).

Imagine my surprise when at the end of the unofficial date, not only asked me for my number, but also made a tentative appointment for a date at the boat salvaging repair yard the following day, in the hopes that he could help me rescue my precious _Zephyr_, (we never did) and after that, he kind of become part of my life.

Which brings me neatly to my current predicament - The whole happily ever after issue. Why-oh-why is it that I suddenly felt like I was a princess in a fairytale after all? Why did I suddenly feeling like I was awake after being asleep my whole life? I certainly never wanted to feel like that and I never imagined I would feel like this!

I told him I didn't want any stupid romantic or sentimental, cheesy nonsense, so why, when he went down on one knee in that restaurant (site of our first date), did I start to cry? I thought I was stronger (and brasher) than that, but no – my stupid heart got the better of me.

I never was a fairytale princess. I don't often wear dresses, I smatter my speech with curses and I am not exactly servile and sweet. I didn't need a hero, but I seemed to have acquired one anyway. Perhaps he came to save me from myself.

I can see my friends glancing around excitedly, children in tow, waiting for me. All those people I used to sail so freely above have come to witness my wings being clipped. They've come to witness the fairytale ending I never wanted. Why can't I stop this stupid grin from being plastered across my face? I don't want him to think I'm going soft on him or anything!

The babble of voices from in front of me hushes as the music begins. I take a breath and glance at my hands. Considering I never had that six-year old girly dream of being a princess, I seem to be unfathomably close to the mark with my current attire.

I don't know how I managed to pick the biggest, most elaborate and gorgeous gown in that stupid shop. I don't even know why I felt a bubble of excitement explode in my heart when I saw myself for the first time in that particular dress. It was definitely not my usual style (or taste) with its full, lace covered skirt, and bodice trimmed with roses, complete matching gloves and a tiara. I picked it out at random and just knew I had to have it even though it made a lie out of all my previous scathing comments about airhead princess type girls. Perhaps I should stop worrying about it. Nobody will notice if I let myself be a fairytale princess, just for one day. I put my chin up and take a step forward. He turns around and gasps. My thoughts become lost in those blue eyes as I walk to meet my fate. Maybe a fairytale ending isn't such a corny idea after all.

He knocked the wind out of my sails, I guess. Well, he did sink my sailing boat after all! Stupid Link.

The End.


End file.
